


Obsolete

by MetallicHeartache (TwistedViolets)



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Feral Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hes studied by Greedy medieval Doctors, Human Monster Slayers, Jaskier needs a hug, Kidnapped Geralt, Last of Witcher Kind- Geralt Au, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Science Experiments, Whump, jaskier centric, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:49:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23489374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwistedViolets/pseuds/MetallicHeartache
Summary: In a dungeon littered with skulls and rotting corpses is a chained up creature. Hair that was once sliver replaced by a dirty brown, eyes that were once piercing replaced by a dull glaze, and lips that once moved could no longer speak.In the opposite corner of that dungeon is a man named Jaskier or Julian depending on who you asked. His voice that was once sweet is now hoarse from sobbing, his eyes that were once bright are spilling an ocean, and his heart that was once so trusting feels the bitter pain of betrayal.A group of doctors watch from afar, noting the process of their experiment. Noting that this human has lived longer than the other ‘toys’ they had offered the creature.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 23
Kudos: 249





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Tags will update with the story to avoid spoiling too much <3
> 
> I don’t know how to explain this story other than I had a dream and was forced to write it by my subconscious. It’s going to be dark and gritty at first but it’ll eventually have a happy ending. Or a least a bitter sweet one~

The research facility is on the edge of the village, surrounded by nature. It was at one point a prison but once it received a 'special prisoner,' it was quickly converted. It hired top-notch doctors, mages, and occasionally a volunteer or two for its more complicated work.

Julian Pankratz held the volunteer flyer in his hand, crumpling the sides as his nerves got the best of him. He's heard the rumors of what that special prisoner is.

A Witcher.

Those creatures born of black magic whom long ago hunted the monsters of villages. They seemed to keep people safe for a short amount of time until soon they became feared. The history books aren't exactly the most knowledgeable things nor trusting.

From what Julian had found out from his research The Witchers were seen as dangerous, uncontrollable monsters, and had been forced out of existence. All books on Witcher creation has been burned and lost to history.

Julian knocks on the wooden door, holding his breath as he sways side to side. Thinking about all of this is giving him a headache.

He came from a village that was well known for its monster slayers. Humans who train from the moment they are born to slay monsters, they were modeled much after the Witchers but were seen as a safer option.

Monster Slayers, sometimes known as demon slayers did jobs in packs, acted as families, and did everything with emotion and logic. They became everything the Witcher's weren't and as such as one of the big reasons the Witchers went extinct.

"Who is it?" A gruff voice comes from just beyond the door.

"Jaskier," he says, his headache seeming to multiply. The name is a precaution, a fake one, but one he had actually found himself preferring after years of performing as a bard.

The door clicks, a lock is undone, and a set of eyes look out at him through the crack of the door. "Is the volunteer position still open?" He holds up the flyer and shows the man, not at all mentioning how vague it is.

"Yes..." the door opens more, white curling hair puffs slowly become unveiled until he sees the man. Small in height, round around the belly in a white jacket, white curly hair, and a small uncertain look on his face. "The position is more suited for a female-" the man shuts his mouth and swallows, looking Jaskier down and up for a moment. "Perhaps you would work just as fine."

"I'm willing to try anything," Jaskier adds with a small smile, hiding his unease. Unsure of what he's getting into but knowing one way or another he has to see the creature. Whatever this special prisoner is.

He has to know if the rumors are true.

"My name is Samual but you can call me Sam," Sam extends a hand towards him and Jaskier grasps it gently, feeling a strong handshake. "If you'll follow me I'll show you our specimen."

...

Down a winding set of cobblestone stairs. Torches illuminate their way and provide a perfect environment for their shadows to dance along the walls. 

"This specimen has been under my care for almost ten years. A once-feared creature turned whimpering dog."

"Just what is the creature?" His heart was pounding, each step echoed off the walls as they grew closer. "An animal?"

"No, not quite. As it would be while he was roaming the planet he had many names such as White Wolf, Geralt of Rivia, or The Witcher."

Shivers are sent up his spine. The words resonating with their final steps. His words caught in his throat as they reach a door and Sam opens it up, revealing a small room, a dungeon. 

As he walks inside the first thing he notices is the scent. The overwhelming scent of death. The second thing he notices is how dark it is, the whole room lit with on a single candle. The third and most jarring thing he notices is a man draped in shadows.

The man is sitting in a corner of the room, on his knees, eyes open but dull and staring at nothing, his hair dry, brown and dirty, and his mouth in a thin line.

The man, chained to the cobblestone wall behind him, without even showing any signs that he ever knew there were was anyone in the room, seemed to have a precedence of nails of a chalkboard. The screaming out of dominance in a way he shouldn't have.

Jaskier stepped back, an overwhelming sense of discomfort and fear rushing over him as he sees the sudden inhumanness of the man on the floor. He steps on something that cracks and shatters beneath his foot. He looks down in horror and all he sees is the remains of a skull.

A noise falls out of his mouth, perhaps a scream, and before he can even comprehend what's going on Sam is shoving him down in the dirt, just in front of the creature, and a sick smile crawls over Sam's face.

"I got you a new toy, Witcher. Do me a favor and try not to break this one will ya? It's hard to find people this dumb these days."

Jaskier fell right into this trap. He just walked right into it without asking, without thinking, without considering his gut feeling.

Sam's laughter fills the room as he looks down upon Jaskier. "You'll make a nice companion with your soft skin and smooth voice. He likes em better when they fight.” Sam opens the door, still grinning as he leaves his words in the open air before leaving the room.

Jaskier quickly scrambles to his feet. He rushes to the door and bangs on it, yanking on the handle but it's no use. He's far too weak to hope to break it down.

Then he hears a slight cling behind him, metal banging off of metal, and he turns his head slowly in horror. The Witcher's posture has changed, gone more rigid, and his eyes now look upon him as if he's really looking at one of his prey.

"No," Jaskier mumbles, rushing to the farthest corner of the room away from the Witcher. Tears prick his eyes and he falls to his knees as everything comes crashing down.

He's locked in here with this monster.

He's locked in here to be ravished and killed.

He's locked in here to be a toy for a beast.

"No please," he presses his head against his knees as he breathes. "Please Gods," he doesn't know what to do. What is he supposed to?

"Please-"

Tears flow down his face and cut off his vision and his words. Everything flows together and he's just sobbing incoherent words into his knees.


	2. Chapter 2

He doesn't know how long he's been crying but what he does know is that he hasn't been murdered yet. He looks up, removes his head from his knees slowly and steadily, hearing nothing but silence.

The creature, Geralt, he's sitting motionlessly in his corner, chains still attached, his posture loose, his eyes dull, not focused on anything but the dirt on the floor. He looked the same as he had when Jaskier had first entered the room.

Yet, even so the creature's very air demanded control as if the way he breathed was that of a feral monster who hunted down and ripped humans apart for sport.

He takes a deep breath, wiping away at his eyes until he can see properly without a million tears in the way. The creature's eyes...they are golden, unhuman, as is the stray sliver strains that are visible through the layers of dirt and grime.

His blood is running cold...yet the creature has yet to move, to fight the chains, to try and attack him. Nothing, the creature has done absolutely nothing.

He's forced to think that's he's gone crazy. Of course he has. He's absolutely delusional at this point obviously. The creature never moved in the first place, he's been like that the whole time right?

He doesn't move, doesn't speak. He can't risk drawing the attention of the creature. 

He isn't ready to die.

...

"I'm just a bard," he mumbles into his palm, his legs are trembling so much that he'd compare them to the jelly that royals typical ate at their fancy balls. He had only seen once or twice when he was a bard.

He says when because obviously he's not going to make it to see another day.

"Oh please someone tell me how I got in this mess," he whispers against his palm again, feeling his warm wet air, that will soon be dried up. 

A fleeting luxury.

The creature is silent, his form only slightly visible due to the dying candlelight flickering again and again.

The door opens with a creak, no noises indicated there was even someone there. No steps on cobbles stone stairs, no breaths, no words, nothing. This room absorbed all those sounds.

Inside walked a middle-aged woman, tall, her brown hair just beginning to gray along the top. Beside her is a man, a younger one, strong build, eyes piercing, he moved with an air of authority as he carried in a basket of colorful objects.

"The creature seems to have grown more docile," the woman notes with an air of disappointment as she grabbed an object in the basket, something red and round, before tossing into his Jaskier's lap.

It's a dull thud and his breathing picks up even though he knows what he's looking at is simply an apple.

He pushes himself further in the corner, his mouth already dried up. He couldn't speak if he wanted to.

These people are crazy, insane even. He just wanted to see A Witcher for himself...he never planned on becoming its meal.

"Jaskier, was it? You've got a beautiful complexion," The woman says it in a scientific tone, a tone devoid of emotion. It's an observation and nothing more.

The woman peers closer, getting right up in his space, she bends down, balancing at the balls of her feet, before she yanks on the buttons of his shirt and observes his skin. "You're rather hairy aren't you?" She speaks to him like she's speaking to a dog. Like he's an animal incapable of understanding her.

He slaps her hand away and holds his shirt together with his other hand. A slight hitch in his breath when she laughs at his little show of disobedience.

"I want to go home," he growls, trying his best to act like everything is fine. This is one big joke, his life isn't on the line, it can't be. 

"Davion," The woman stood as she spoke, her laughter stopping abruptly but a grin still danced across her lips. 

The male, Davion, takes his eyes off the creature and instead to Jaskier. He simply handed the basket to the woman before without even warning, kicking Jaskier in the stomach.

He yelps, a strange liquid bubbling in his throat, most likely his own stomach acid as he keels over. Another kick and it's to his face and before he knows it he's on the floor sputtering away as a series of coughs come, a metallic flavor laced in his spit.

"How long do you think he'll live?" The man kicks him again, this time his vision blues and he swears the ground is almost spinning. The apple rolls away from him, it's slightly damp outside collect dirt as it goes.

"Not long," The woman says stopping the apple with her heels. "He's not a very bright one."

His vision shorts out, visions of black overtake him and he feels nothing. 

Just a cold settling into his bones as he lays in a darkened void. Devoid of all-purpose and meaning he feels nothing. Nothing at all as his life flashes before his life.

Nothing good.

Well, there was probably one or two good things...like getting a lute he could love...and singing his first song without being booed.

...

He awakens to silence. The room is even darker now, with the candle almost completely burned out. All he can see are golden eyes glowing, looking at him with somewhat of a focus.

"What?" He spits out at the creature as he sat upright, his body aching at each movement. "Can you even understand me?"

The creature says nothing.

There are a few more fruits than he remembers. A mango, a pear, and then the apple, all covered in dirt. Gross, but his stomach rumbles and the more he looks the more he wants to take a bite.

He picks up the apple, spits on it, dusts it off, and then takes a gritty bite. He coughs at the taste, but the juicy inside is enough to get through a few horrible bites.

The creature watches him with interest but still remains relatively still. He can't tell with how dark it is if the creature even moved. It may be chained but it could most easily change positions at the very least.

He wouldn't be surprised if the creature could break the chains, with how rusted they are, but with that thought, he's swallowing his apple harder and looking away. Unable to understand nor pretend to understand why the creature hasn't attempted to kill him yet.

Those doctors...they act like this creature, this Witcher is some feral beast but...he hasn't done anything so monstrous yet. In fact, if he closed his eyes slightly while he looked at it, he could probably convince himself that it's human.

A strange thought.

He takes another bite of the apple as he leans back against the cobblestone wall behind him with a sigh. Pain radiates up his back and he's sure he'll have bruises sooner or later if he doesn't already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will most likely contain dark themes :(


End file.
